


Beneath the Skin

by StegesaurusKay



Category: 18th Century CE RPF, Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Blood, Canon Era, Gen, Horror-ish AU, Supernatural Elements, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-23
Updated: 2018-10-23
Packaged: 2019-08-06 07:04:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16383569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StegesaurusKay/pseuds/StegesaurusKay
Summary: Lafayette knows what he feels; every sense heightened to the point of anguish, hunger like nothing he’s ever felt before, impossible to ignore, to control in his current condition. Another short cry and Hamilton lifts his head slightly, eyes meeting Lafayette’s in horror.“What have you done to me?”





	Beneath the Skin

Lafayette knows he should not have left Hamilton alone, and he curses himself for it as he treks through frost tipped grass in the dim gray of near-dawn. The weather seems unseasonably cold, but he does not pause to prepare for it. He’s left his quarters without a heavy coat or a hat, thinking only to grab a scarf to wrap around his neck before rushing off in search of his wayward friend. 

It is mercifully still early enough that much of the camp is still asleep, and no one sees him go. Lafayette thanks whatever deity may be watching for that. He certainly does not want to be followed.

Tracking Hamilton is not difficult. There are evenly spaced spots of crushed, frosty grass leading from Lafayette’s quarters to the nearby woods, and there is no one else that might have taken such a direct path from the building. As he nears the trees he notices some of the streaks of broken grass grow uneven, longer, like dragging feet, and he frowns in concern. Another few steps and he sees- no, he smells it first: blood strewn across the grass. Too much of it.

He stops for just a moment, stares down at the glistening red against the surrounding shimmer of ice. Fear creeps into his chest.

This is his fault.

_Lafayette did not know until he laid eyes on Hamilton, writhing and screaming on the cot, that he might have considered instantaneous death from a bullet a blessing._

__

__

_Hamilton is shot straight though the middle, a bullet that missed his heart and lungs to wreak havoc on everything lower. Gut shot, Lafayette has heard American soldiers call it. Gory, fatal, and an injury existing only to cause the utmost amount of suffering possible before allowing its victim release in death._

_Lafayette stares down at his friend, finding his feet planted where he stands. Doctors rush around him doing what they can; he thinks one is able to remove the bullet, but he knows it will do no good. Laurens crouches near Hamilton’s head, murmuring something low and soothing to try to calm him. Lafayette knows that will do no good either._

_Just like thousands of men in camp since the war began, Hamilton will die._

Lafayette enters the woods with just the slightest hesitation, fearful of what he may find. The thick trees plunge the near dawn back into night, and he moves along cautiously, clutching his thin coat tighter against his body. Hamilton must be close. The scent of blood is the same from the medical tent just- how many days ago? Three? Four? It is so overwhelming that he can almost taste it on his tongue.

Something abruptly twists in his chest and he is forced to stop. He leans against a tree as he draws air in through his nose and holds it. His eyes squeeze shut. He lets the air out slowly, in a puff of white that dissipates into the morning chill. He does it again, and again. The feeling subsides. Lafayette pushes away from the tree and starts forward again. His legs tremble as he cannot push away the feeling of dread creeping up his spine.

He should not have left Hamilton alone.

_Mercifully drifting in and out of consciousness, Hamilton is probably not aware of much of what is going on around him. It troubles Lafayette to think that is mercy, to die completely out of one’s head. Even the slightest shift of his weight shoots pain through Hamilton’s ruined abdomen. He reacts, of course, arching his back or trying to jerk away, but that just multiplies his agony. Hamilton no longer has the strength to scream, but the cries- every sound that creeps from his throat is more ragged and desperate than the last._

__

__

_Lafayette sits alone with him now. The tent is mostly quiet. There is nothing the doctors can do. He’s sent Laurens to rest after assuring him he would send for him when the worst inevitably happens. At some point after the useless surgery General Washington rushed into the tent. He had laid eyes on Hamilton and gone completely white. He left without managing a word._

_Hamilton’s breaths are uneven, too short. His face is pale, covered by a sheen of sweat. Some time after the sun goes down he starts to shiver, but it wakes him and the pain takes over again._

_He fights Lafayette, who does everything he can to keep him still. At some point their eyes meet. Hamilton’s mouth moves, barely managing the strength to give a single word voice, “Hurts…”_

_This breaks Lafayette. He leans forward, careful not to jar his friend in any way. He rests his forehead against Hamilton’s and gently strokes his cheek with his thumb. “Go to sleep,” He whispers. He says it again and again and again and again, until Hamilton does._

_Once he is certain Hamilton is asleep again he seeks out a medic and arranges for his dying friend to be brought to his quarters, so his final hours might be more comfortable._

_If Lafayette is to do what he plans, he must ensure there will be no interruptions._

Finally he spots the familiar figure just ahead. His back is turned, hair completely loose, hanging unkempt and wavy over his shoulders. Lafayette recognizes him instantly. He stops a few paces away before venturing softly, “Hammie?”

Hamilton whirls around to face him, eyes impossibly wide and red rimmed, the dark color standing out more than usual against his pale face. He is unsteady on his feet. He’s gone out with just a shirt and breeches; no coat, no boots. Lafayette pays less attention to that and much more to the blood on the front of Hamilton’s shirt. A beat later he realizes it’s also on his cheeks, his chin, and staining his lips.

“I didn’t mean to,” Hamilton’s voice is uncharacteristically soft as he ventures an unsteady step. He sounds like a child caught misbehaving. He staggers toward Lafayette and stumbles.

Lafayette rushes to close the distance between them and easily manages to catch Hamilton’s slight weight against his chest. The other man slumps in his arms and lets out a moan; his bloody face buries in his shoulder.

“I could not stop myself!” He cries between hiccups and muffled sobs into Lafayette’s coat. Hamilton shudders hard and suddenly goes limp. Lafayette has to react quickly to shift his own weight to hold him up. For a long minute, and then another, neither of them move, and then Hamilton slowly lifts his head. “I was…” A sickening pause. “I was hungry.”

Lafayette sees the body then. It lies on the ground where Hamilton had been standing; a young man, probably an enlisted soldier, barely more than a boy. His eyes are frozen open, fixed on nothing, mouth open wide in a silent scream. His neck is ripped wide open, blood stained across his stark white skin and the surrounding grass.

_Hamilton does not have long. It is a miracle enough that he survived being moved the short distance to Lafayette’s quarters. He somehow continues to breathe, though now he does little else. He has not awakened for several hours, and if he does not act soon, Lafayette knows he never will again._

__

__

_He locks the door to his quarters, paces back down the hall. Hamilton still lives. He downs a glass of wine and stares out the window, pondering. Hamilton still breathes. Lafayette briefly wonders if he should stand aside, summon Laurens, and let the natural expectation happen._

_Thousands of young men have perished in this war, men Lafayette has known, fought with. Hamilton is different. He has a zeal for life, throwing himself with full energy and abandon into every task he’s assigned, everything he can get his hands into. Alexander Hamilton of all people should not be extinguished so young._

_Not when Lafayette can save him._

He half carries Hamilton through the woods, away from the main path until he is certain he’s put enough space in between them and the dead soldier. They will have to return and bury the man before he is discovered, but Lafayette must first deal with a more pressing matter.

It takes some effort not to drop Hamilton’s trembling form against a large tree trunk. The instant Lafayette lets him go he sinks against the bark, curling in on himself until his arms wrap tight around his middle and his knees draw to his chest. A harsh sob escapes his throat.

“I was dying,” The words shoot from his mouth, half hysterical. “I should be dead,” He shifts one arm to lift his shirt. The once mortal wound in his belly is healed save for a patch of pink scarring that will never completely go away. He rocks forward and back, drops his head into his hands. A muffled whimper escapes from between his clenched fingers.

Lafayette knows what he feels; every sense heightened to the point of anguish, hunger like nothing he’s ever felt before, impossible to ignore, to control in his current condition. Another short cry and Hamilton lifts his head slightly, eyes meeting Lafayette’s in horror.

“What have you done to me?”

Slowly Lafayette crouches in front of him. He rolls back one sleeve of his coat. Hamilton watches him, eyes wide and feverish. There is a hint of a red glow behind the dark natural color. His mouth hangs open slightly, and Lafayette easily spots the remnants of blood against razor sharp canines. He remains calm, extends an arm, and tilts his hand back so his wrist hovers just under Hamilton’s nose. Lafayette gestures toward it with a nod, “Drink,” He says gently.

“What?” Hamilton stares at him, suddenly looking ill.

“You are hungry,” Lafayette explains. “The…transformation is incomplete. You were too weak to finish it before.”

_Hamilton’s heart stutters and stops beneath his hands. Lafayette is surprised how long it held out. He curls his fingers against his shirt and forces himself to pull back from Hamilton’s throat. While he may be somewhat inexperienced, he truly believes he can do this. He knows how. Below him Hamilton is sheet white and still in death, but he is still warm. Lafayette prays he’s done enough, reaches forward and carefully wipes a bit of excess blood away from two small punctures on Hamilton’s neck._

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_The touch jolts Hamilton like a bolt of lightning and he abruptly arches off the bed, eyes flying open. His chest heaves with a painful sound as he tries to draw in air, unaware that his body no longer needs it to survive. His hands grip the sheets underneath him, twist, and the fabric rips with surprising ease._

_Lafayette stands to try to calm him._

_Hamilton does not see him; does not hear him. Hamilton screams._

There is a long moment of silence between them, but ultimately Hamilton turns away, raking his hands desperately through loose hair. “I am no monster!” The exclamation carries more strength than Lafayette has heard from him in days. An instant after he utters the words though, he shudders, drops his head against his knees and lets out a broken cry.

“No more a monster than me. Please, mon ami,” Lafayette implores. He runs his tongue slowly along his own sharp teeth so Hamilton sees. “You will feel much better.”

“I…killed that man. I killed him!”

“I know,” He is calm, reassuring. Trying hard not to think about it.

Hamilton heaves like he might be sick. “I ripped his throat out. I—with my _teeth_ ,” There is more weakness in his voice than there should be from that statement. 

“You did not know what you were doing,” Lafayette sounds patient, but he fights to hold back the worry in his voice. For one dreadful moment he fears he’s made a mistake. Fears he actually has turned his friend into a monster. Fears that Hamilton’s streak of stubborn and drive to accomplish have combined at the exact wrong time to face a battle he has no hope of winning. 

Hamilton tries once more to shift away from him, but Lafayette knows he will not be able to stave off the gnawing, ravenous sensation much longer. Those who try to resist it wind up little more than mindless beasts. He will not let Hamilton become one of them. Lafayette closes his eyes against the thought of the dead soldier in the woods. He cannot let there be more.

When Lafayette opens his eyes again he finds Hamilton leaning forward, lips poised over the offered limb. Hamilton hesitates, clearly torn between potentially ending his own hurt or doing worse to his friend. Lafayette offers an encouraging smile, “Go ahead. You will do me no harm.”

He winces as a sharp pain pierces through the thin skin of his wrist, but it’s a welcome sensation and he allows himself to relax, utterly relieved as Hamilton takes what he needs. The last vestiges of humanity cling incessant and stubborn, but not for much longer. Once he’s recovered Lafayette will explain everything about his new life. 

Explain that he is no longer human, but not a monster either. That illness can no longer touch him. That he will never grow old. That it is important to keep this secret from everyone; humans often react poorly to creatures that need to drink blood to survive.

It will take time to explain all of it.

But they have all the time in the world.

**Author's Note:**

> Omigosh hi. I'm Kay. This is the first story I've put online in probably 6 years. I don't know where this came from. I was innocently working on a longer magic!AU series and I suddenly woke up at 5 a.m. like, BAM. I GOTTA WRITE ABOUT VAMPIRE!LAFAYETTE.
> 
> Happy Halloween? Yeah, that!
> 
> Let me know if you enjoyed! I have a tumblr I don't use much- [StegeKay](http://stegekay.tumblr.com). There may be occasional drabbles or doodles.


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